As the Crow Flies (27 page)

“He’s
not my Charlie” was all she said.

Anyway,
I kept a close eye on Becky during the next thirty days and it quickly became
plain for anyone to see that she wasn’t going to raise the money. However, she
was far too proud to admit as much to me. I therefore decided the time had come
to pay another visit to Romford.

“This
is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Harcourt-Browne,” Becky’s mother assured me,
when I arrived unannounced at their little house in Belle Vue Road. I should
point out, in my own defense, that I would have informed Mrs. Salmon of my
imminent arrival if she had possessed a telephone. As I sought certain information
that only she could supply before the thirty days were information that would
save not only her daughter’s face but also her finances I was unwilling to put
my trust in the postal service.

“Becky
isn’t in any trouble, I hope?” was Mrs. Salmon’s first reaction when she saw me
standing on the doorstep.

“Certainly
not,” I assured her. “Never seen the girl in perkier form.”

“It’s
just that since her father’s death I do worry about her,” Mrs. Salmon
explained. She limped just slightly as she guided me into a drawing room that
was as spotless as the day I had first accepted their kind invitation to tea. A
bowl of fruit rested on the table in the center of the room. I only prayed that
Mrs. Salmon would never drop into Number 97 without giving me at least a year’s
notice.

“How
can I be of assistance?” Mrs. Salmon asked, moments after Miss Roach had been
dispatched to the kitchen to prepare tea.

“I
am considering making a small investment in a greengrocer’s shop in Chelsea,” I
told her. “I am assured by John D. Wood that it is a sound proposition, despite
the current food shortage and the growing problems with trade unions that is,
as long as I can install a first-class manager.”

Mrs.
Salmon’s smile was replaced by a puzzled expression.

“Becky
has sung the praises of someone called Charlie Trumper, and the purpose of my
visit is to seek your opinion of the gentleman in question.”

“Gentleman
he certainly is not,” said Mrs. Salmon without hesitation. “An uneducated
ruffian might be nearer the mark.”

“Oh,
what a disappointment,” I said. “Especially as Becky led me to believe that
your late husband thought rather highly of him.”

“As
a fruit and vegetable man he certainly did. In fact I’d go as far as to say
that Mr. Salmon used to consider that young Charlie might end up being as good
as his grandfather.”

“And
how good was that?”

“Although
I didn’t mix with those sort of people, you understand,” explained Mrs. Salmon,
“I was told, second-hand of course, that he was the finest Whitechapel had ever
seen.”

“Good,”
I said. “But is he also honest?”

“I
have never heard otherwise,” Mrs. Salmon admitted. “And Heaven knows, he’s
willing to work all the hours God gave, but he’s hardly your type, I would have
thought, Miss Harcourt-Browne.”

“I
was considering employing the man as a shopkeeper, Mrs. Salmon, not inviting
him to join me in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot.” At that moment Miss Roach
reappeared with a tray of tea jam tarts and eclairs smothered in cream. They
turned out to be so delicious that I stayed far longer than I had planned.

The
following morning I paid a visit to John D. Wood and handed over a check for
the remaining ninety pounds. I then visited my solicitor and had a contract
drawn up, which when it was completed I didn’t begin to understand.

Once
Becky had found out what I had been up to I drove a hard bargain, because I
knew the girl would resent my interference if I wasn’t able to prove that I was
getting something worthwhile out of the deal.

As
soon as she had been convinced of that, Becky immediately handed over a further
thirty pounds to help reduce the debt. She certainly took her new enterprise
most seriously, because within weeks she had stolen a young man from a shop in
Kensington to take over Trumper’s until Charlie returned. She also continued to
work hours I didn’t even know existed. I could never get her to explain to me
the point of rising before the sun did.

After
Becky had settled into her new routine I even invited her to make up a foursome
for the opera one night to see La Boheme. In the past she had shown no
inclination to attend any of my outings, especially with her new
responsibilities with the shop. But on this occasion I pleaded with her to join
the group because a chum of mine had canceled at the last minute and I
desperately needed a spare girl.

“But
I’ve nothing to wear,” she said helplessly.

“Take
your pick of anything of mine you fancy,” I told her, and ushered her through
to my bedroom.

I
could see that she found such an offer almost irresistible. An hour later she
reemerged in a long turquoise dress that brought back memories of what it had
originally looked like on the model.

“Who
are your other guests?” Becky inquired.

“Algernon
Fitzpatrick. He’s Percy Wiltshire’s best friend. You remember, the man who hasn’t
yet been told I’m going to marry him.”

“And
who makes up the party?”

“Guy
Trentham. He’s a captain in the Royal Fusiliers, an acceptable regiment, just,”
I added. “He’s recently returned from the Western Front where it’s said he had
a rather good war. MC and all that. We come from the same village in Berkshire,
and grew up together, although I confess we don’t really have a lot in common.
Very good-looking, but has the reputation as a bit of a ladies’ man, so beware.”

La
Boheme, I felt, had been a great success, even if Guy couldn’t stop leering at
Becky throughout the second act not that she seemed to show the slightest
interest in him.

However,
to my surprise, as soon as we got back to the flat Becky couldn’t stop talking
about the man his looks, his sophistication, his charm although I couldn’t help
noting that she didn’t once refer to his character. Eventually I managed to get
to bed, but not before I had assured Becky to her satisfaction that her feelings
were undoubtedly reciprocated.

In
fact, I became, unwittingly, Cupid’s messenger for the budding romance. The
following day I was asked by Guy to invite Miss Salmon to accompany him to a
West End play. Becky accepted, of course, but then I had already assured Guy
she would.

After
their outing to the Haymarket, I seemed to bump into the two of them all the
time, and began to fear that if the relationship became any more serious it
could only, as my nanny used to say, end in tears. I began to regret having
ever introduced them in the first place, although there was no doubt, to quote
the modern expression: she was head over heels in love.

Despite
this, a few weeks’ equilibrium returned to the residents of 97 and then Charlie
was demobbed.

I
wasn’t formally introduced to the man for some time after his return, and when
I was I had to admit they didn’t make them like that in Berkshire. The occasion
was a dinner we all shared at that awful little Italian restaurant just up the
road from my flat.

To
be fair, the evening was not what one might describe as a wow, partly because
Guy made no effort to be sociable, but mainly because Becky didn’t bother to
bring Charlie into the conversation at all. I found myself asking and then
answering most of the questions, and, as for Charlie, he appeared on first
sighting to be somewhat gauche.

When
we were all walking back to the flat after dinner, I suggested to him that we
should leave Becky and Guy to be themselves. When Charlie escorted me into his
shop he couldn’t resist stopping to explain how he had changed everything
around since he had taken over. His enthusiasm would have convinced the most
cynical investor, but what impressed me most was his knowledge of a business
which until that moment I hadn’t given a second thought to. It was then that I
made the decision to assist Charlie with both his causes.

I
wasn’t in the least surprised to discover how he felt about Becky, but she was
so infatuated with Guy that she wasn’t even aware of Charlie’s existence. It
was during one of his interminable monologues on the virtues of the girl that I
began to form a plan for Charlie’s future. I was determined that he must have a
different type of education, perhaps not as formal as Becky’s, but no less
valuable for the future he had decided on.

I
assured Charlie that Guy would soon become bored with Becky as that had proved
to be the invariable pattern with girls who had crossed his path in the past. I
added that he must be patient and the apple would eventually fall into his lap.
I also explained who Newton was.

I
assumed that those tears to which Nanny had so often referred might indeed
begin to flow soon after Becky was invited to spend the weekend with Guy’s
parents at Ashurst. I made sure that I was asked to join the Trenthams for
afternoon tea on the Sunday, to give whatever moral support Becky might feel in
need of.

I
arrived a little after three-forty, which I have always considered a proper
hour for taking tea, only to find Mrs. Trentham surrounded by silverware and
crockery but sitting quite alone.

“Where
are the starstruck lovers?” I inquired, as I entered the drawing room.

“If
you’re referring, in that coarse way of yours, Daphne, to my son and Miss
Salmon, they have already departed for London.”

“Together,
I presume?” I asked.

“Yes,
although for the life of me I can’t imagine what the dear boy sees in her.”
Mrs. Trentham poured me a cup of tea. “As for myself, I found her exceedingly
common.”

“Perhaps
it could be her brains and looks,” I volunteered as the major entered the room.
I smiled at a man I had known since I was a child and had come to treat as an
uncle. The one mystery about him as far as I was concerned was how he could
possibly have fallen for someone like Ethel Hardcastle.

“Guy
left too?” he asked.

“Yes,
he’s returned to London with Miss Salmon,” said Mrs. Trentham for a second
time.

“Oh,
pity really. She seemed such a grand girl.”

“In
a parochial type of way,” said Mrs. Trentham.

“I
get the impression Guy rather dotes on her,” I said, hoping for a reaction.

“Heaven
forbid,” said Mrs. Trentham.

“I
doubt if heaven will have a lot to do with it,” I told her, as I warmed to the
challenge.

“Then
I shall,” said Mrs. Trentham. “I have no intention of letting my son marry the
daughter of an East End street trader.”

“I
can’t see why not,” interjected the major. “After all, isn’t that what your
grandfather was?”

“Gerald,
really. My grandfather founded and built up a highly successful business in
Yorkshire, not the East End.”

“Then
I think that it’s only the location we are discussing,” said the major. “I well
recall your father tellin’ me, with some pride I might add, that his old dad
had started Hardcastle’s in the back of a shed somewhere near Huddersfield.”

“Gerald
I feel sure he was exaggerating.”

“Never
struck me as the type of man who was prone to exaggerate,” retorted the major. “On
the contrary, rather blunt sort of fellow. Shrewd with it, I always considered.”

“Then
that must have been a considerable time ago,” said Mrs. Trentham.

“What’s
more, I suspect that we shall live to see the children of Rebecca Salmon doing
a bloody sight better than the likes of us,” added the major.

“Gerald,
I do wish you wouldn’t use the word ‘bloody’ so frequently. We’re all being
influenced by that socialist playwright Mr. Shaw and his frightful Pygmalion,
which seems to be nothing more than a play about Miss Salmon.”

“Hardly,”
I told her. “After all, Becky will leave London University with a bachelor of
arts degree, which is more than my whole family has managed between them in
eleven centuries.”

“What
may well be the case,” Mrs. Trentham concurred, “but they are hardly the
qualifications that I feel appropriate for advancing Guy’s military career,
especially now his regiment will be completing a tour of duty in India.”

This
piece of information came as a bolt out of the blue. I also felt pretty certain
Becky knew nothing of it.

“And
when he returns to these shores,” continued Mrs. Trentham, “I shall be looking
for someone of good breeding, sufficient money and perhaps even a little
intelligence to be his matrimonial partner. Gerald may have failed, by petty
prejudice, to become Colonel of the Regiment, but I will not allow the same
thing to happen to Guy, of that I can assure you.”

“I
simply wasn’t good enough,” said the major gruffly. “Sir Danvers was far better
qualified for the job, and in any case it was only you who ever wanted me to be
colonel in the first place.”

“Nevertheless,
I feel after Guy’s results at Sandhurst.”

“He
managed to pass out in the top half,” the major reminded her. “That can hardly
be described as carrying off the sword of honor, my dear.”